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commander-krios · 4 months

Text

A Divine Dream

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Rolan/Dammon Rating: Teen Summary: An invitation to a Grand Ball. A returning hero. And the man who'd gotten away. Words: 5798 Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Slow Dancing, Ballroom Dancing, Banter, Happy Ending, Love and Hope, Second Chances, Mild Language, Background Wyll/Karlach

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This fic was written for @Cozy_Bossi to go along with a piece of art they made a few months ago of Dammon and Rolan. I've attached the picture and their twitter on AO3 so that you can follow them for more wonderful art!

Also, I hit 200k words posted for 2023!

Your presence is requested at a Grand Ball in honour of the rebuilding of Baldur’s Gate by his eminence, Duke Ulder Ravengard.

The invitation was written in elegant script, looped letters in golden ink that glittered in the light. He knew he should attend. Most likely, his absence would be noticed and considered rude among the upper circles of the city. He was the master of Ramazith’s Tower and Baldur’s Gate’s newest archmage, yet he had much to still do, even a year after the destruction of the Absolute. With a sigh, Rolan tossed the parchment on his desk amidst mountains of scrolls and books.

The movement caught Cal’s eye. His brother glanced up from his book, scrunching his face in concern. “Another solicitor?”

“If only.” Untying his hair from the elaborate braid he’d started to wear recently, he brushed his fingers through the strands, combing the knots out. “There is a party for the Duke in a tenday. I’m expected to attend.”

“A party sounds fun.” Cal reached for the paper, glancing it over quickly before a grin appeared on his face. A grin that Rolan didn’t like the look of. “And Ravengard is fair and honorable. You might actually enjoy yourself.”

“The horror.” Rolan muttered, the sarcasm not lost on his younger brother. “I can think of a hundred other things I’d rather be doing than getting dressed up like a prized peacock and prancing around a dance floor.”

“Is it because you don’t have a date?” Cal teased, setting the invitation face up in front of Rolan again, the golden script mocking him.

“A date? Have you seen the type of person that tries to woo me? Hardly any of them are worth the time or effort.”

“So you’re saying that some of them are worth it?”

“Please spare me.” The invitation sat open, a temptation despite his objections. How long had it been since he’d left the Tower to merely socialize? His work as archmage brought him to many drawing rooms in Baldur’s Gate, not to mention his travels across Faerun visiting with other archwizards. He wasn’t locked away in Ramazith’s Tower like his predecessor had been. No, he frequently took on apprentices, delved into research with other wizards in the Realms.

But his patience for frivolous things, for frivolous people, had waned in the last months. What use was making connections, social or otherwise, when the one person he wished to see had left for Avernus nearly a full year ago?

Cal shifted in his seat, bringing his book closer as if he planned to continue reading, but his eyes were fixed on a singular spot on the page. He knew what this was. Cal craved life outside of the tower walls. Lia was well established with the Flaming Fist. She had friends and dates and hobbies that kept her away for days at a time. Cal had put his life on hold to stay behind and help Rolan with the organization of the Tower, of everything Lorroakan had left behind. He worked in Sorcerous Sundries most days, only going out on the occasion when Lia insisted.

After everything they’d been through to get to this point, Rolan knew he owed his brother this.

With a sigh, Rolan rested his elbow on the desk, cupping his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed on his brother. “Cal.”

Cal glanced up curiously, the shadow of a grin twitching at his lips. “Yes, Rolan?”

“Did you want to go to the ball with me?”

In his excitement, Cal slammed the book shut hard enough that the entire table shook. Rolan cast a spell to stop the ink pot from tumbling to the floor. It floated, suspended in mid-air before he snatched it and returned it to the safety of the desk.

“I know you’re excited, but please be careful.”

“Sorry.” Cal said with a sheepish grin. “Should we invite Lia?”

“I suspect she’ll be there.” Rolan cleared away the texts, standing and replacing them to their spots on the bookshelf. He didn’t want to discuss the ball, or the Flaming Fist, or anything when he knew how easily it could lead to places and people he wasn’t ready to talk about yet. Friends that were long gone and most likely would never return.

“Right. Flaming Fist and all.” Cal stood as well, stretching to relieve his muscles from sitting in one place so long. “Should I check in on Tolna before bed?”

“No.” He said, realizing his voice was sharper than was necessary. Forcing himself to be gentler, he turned to his brother, putting on his best smile. The frown on Cal’s face only proved he was still terrible at it. “I’ll do it. I should secure the vault and check in on a few things anyway. Go. Get some rest.”

Cal hesitated, as if he wanted to say something, but decided better of it. “Alright. You’ll let me know if you need help, right?”

Rolan nodded, but he knew no matter how much help he needed, he wouldn’t bother his brother’s well deserved rest. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he gathered up his loose hair, tying it back like he used to do when they traveled the dangerous roads of the Storm Coast. If Cal noticed, he didn’t comment on it. “Of course. Now off with you. I have work to do.”

Cal knew better than to argue with him, it wasn’t worth the trouble. Even if Rolan was in the wrong, it took practically pulling teeth for him to admit it. When his brother finally exited through the portal, the wizard of Ramazith’s Tower was left in the echoey silence.

~~~~

Duke Ulder Ravengard’s estate was lavishly decorated with red and gold hangings, perfectly shined silverware, the glow of hundreds of candles creating the perfect romantic atmosphere for the couples that had already taken to the dancefloor. Gowns made of delicate fabrics in colors of indigo and crimson, lavender and silver, each one more beautiful than the last, billowed and swayed with each movement. Elaborate beading, expensive jewelry, fashionably coiffed hair…

Rolan still couldn’t believe he was here with the nobility as an equal. All of his ambition and dreaming never prepared him for this new life: the opulence, the respect, the wealth of knowledge at his hands. He knew how lucky he was for such a chance, he’ll always be grateful to Wyll and his friends for helping him acquire it.

With a wave of his hand and a quiet recitation of a well-known spell, stars sparkled across the ceiling, falling in wide arcs of light and color, and a smattering of applause went through the room at the sight.

Cal inhaled sharply beside him, eyes fixed on the magic until it disappeared, wonder and appreciation on his face. “Wow. That never gets old, does it?”

Rolan smiled softly, clapping a hand to his brother’s shoulder, enjoying the way his eyes lit up at the light show. Almost like old times. “I’m glad you convinced me to come. Now, go. Enjoy yourself. I am going to see if Lia is here yet.”

Cal met his eyes, hesitating. “Are you sure you want me to leave you?”

“I can handle some nobles, Cal.” Rolan held back a laugh at the incredulous look on his brother’s face. “I’m not that insufferable, am I?”

“Well…”

Pushing gently against Cal’s shoulder, he wasn’t surprised when he burst into laughter. “Get out of here, you menace.”

Cal was still chuckling as he melted into the crowd, in search of whoever he knew among the guests. The Flaming Fist was here in force, silent watchers in the corners of the room, although most threats to the Duke or the city had long disappeared with the destruction of the Elder Brain and the deaths of the Chosen Three. Baldur’s Gate, like much of the Storm Coast, hadn’t experienced peace such as this in years. He hoped it lasted.

Rolan had no difficulty finding Duke Ravengard in the crowd, he and Counsellor Florrick speaking to nobility and common folk alike, neither being barred from the Upper City as was once the norm. Now, everyone had a voice in the rebuilding, in the life that was going to bloom here, and Rolan was grateful to be part of it.

Perhaps there was hope, after all. Hope for a better future, for a happier one. A future where he didn’t have to regret or question the choices he’d made.

A future where he finally made a life for himself.

His sister was at her post near the back of the room, the refreshment table not far from where she stood. When Lia noticed his approach, a smile spread across her face, waving in the direction he’d come from.

“I knew you had to be here when the magic show lit up the room. Can’t stop showing off, can you?”

“I did it for Cal, if you must know.” He replied flippantly, reaching immediately for the Arabellan Dry and pouring a large glass full. “He is here, somewhere.”

“Probably searching for Lord Guthmere’s daughter.” She teased, pretending to be at attention when he glanced at her. “They’ve taken a liking to one another.”

“Please, Lia. Let’s not make enemies of the patriars of the city already. I don’t want to be chased out by a mob because you and Cal cannot be discrete.”

She was silent as he sipped the wine, watching the people of Baldur’s Gate flirt, dance, and stand a world apart from them. Even if he was considered among them, Rolan doubted he would ever feel as comfortable among the glitter and gold than he was in the Sundries library, discussing spells and history with other wizards, most notably Elminster and Gale, both of whom visited him frequently over the last year. It’d been quiet, informative, and immensely enjoyable.

“You look weird.” Lia said, barely concealed mischief flirting across her face. She wore her Flaming Fist uniform, the crimson fabric and silver iron looking right on her. He would never admit it aloud, but he was proud of the woman she’d become.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t still irritate him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He brushed a hand over the rich blue robes he wore, enjoying how the golden threads shone in the light. Rolan had spent days searching for the perfect set of robes for the Duke’s ball, only to end up in Facemaker’s at the last moment to find something worthy of an archmage. “This was an expensive purchase.”

“You might want to ask for your money back.” She teased him, motioning to the ensemble. His frown deepened. “Half of it is missing.”

Rolan sniffed in irritation, lifting the goblet to his mouth again.“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Hells, you’re sensitive tonight.” Lia rolled her eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t roll all the way into her skull. “I was joking, you idiot.”

“It’s difficult to tell when everything you say is a joke.”

She stared at him until his lips twitched, a smile curling his lips without his permission. Lia snorted a laugh, shaking her head but the expression on her face was approving. Figured.

“Why are you over here sulking, anyway? I’m sure there are plenty of people who would love to get to know the fabulous Master Rolan.”

He gazed into the wine glass, the dark burgundy liquid holding no answers to what plagued him. Only he knew and like hell would he explain any of it to his sister.

He diverted her attention instead.

“Shouldn’t you be worrying less about me and more about protecting the Duke instead?”

Lia rolled her eyes, nodding to the Duke in question. “As if anyone is going to get past his entourage. Most of the Fist are here for the appearance of protection. Absolutely no one is going to hurt the Duke with a wizard prodigy, a Harper, and a damned vampire spawn protecting him.”

There was no doubt about that. The Duke’s son had left Baldur’s Gate to his father’s benevolent rule, but hadn’t left him alone. Many of his companions had either stayed in the city or visited frequently, to the point that they were welcomed guests at Ravengard’s.

“I suppose you have a point.” Rolan conceded before taking another sip of wine, refusing to meet his sister’s gaze. The last thing he wanted was to see her smug grin. She may have won this argument, but there would be plenty of those tonight and he wasn’t going to concede victory so early. “But then again, I am also here to protect our beloved Duke. Lest you forgot.”

“Could never forget a head that big.”

Rolan held his tongue when there was movement ahead, a gathering of the patriars and their guests as the familiar visage of Duke Ravengard appeared, calling for their attention as if his very presence didn’t immediately call for it. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed even Lia had snapped to attention, her chin held high and her focus entirely on the man she worked for. He’d never seen her so disciplined before.

Perhaps he wasn’t the only one to truly benefit from the time they’d spent in Baldur’s Gate.

“Now that everyone has gathered, it’s time I explained why I asked you here.” Ulder Ravengard stood slightly raised above the crowd, a goblet of wine in his hand, Florrick and a few of his closest council standing a few feet off, watching with much less anxiety than the rest.

Whispers broke out, speculation running rampant. Ravengard raised his hands in supplication, a genuine happiness on his face that Rolan hadn’t seen much of since Wyll left for Avernus, and the guests fell silent, waiting with bated breath for his announcement. Rolan sighed quietly, trying to still the anxious flutter of his hands. He folded his arms over his chest, tucking his hands against his body, trying to ignore the foreboding that tickled at the back of his mind.

“It’s been nearly a year and yet, I never gave up hope that my son would return home to Baldur’s Gate. To us.” Rolan didn’t miss the whispered ‘to me’ that Ravengard spoke under his breath. “And for the first time since that day against the Netherbrain, he isn’t alone. Please aid me in welcoming back the Pride of the Gate, your hero, and my son. Wyll.”

Applause and cheers mixed among the patriars, all turning as one as the enormous ornate doors opened once more to admit their heroes. Wyll Ravengard stood at the front, looking as much the hero as the Blade of Frontiers ever had, dressed in an impeccable doublet of black and gold, a prince among patriars.

The tiefling barbarian, Karlach, stood beside him with their arms linked, a radiant force with her wide smile and affectionate laugh, eyes sparkling with a fire that always burned within her.

Rolan hadn’t heard a single scrap of news regarding the tiefling with the infernal engine until now. Her return to Avernus was kept quiet among the companions and the few people who knew of her affliction. Duke Ravengard’s mood had soured considerably after Wyll left with her, refusing to let the woman he loved suffer alone, but tonight, there was a new light within the Duke… within them all. A happiness that Rolan hadn’t seen in so long.

Wyll’s infectious laughter and wit immediately drew people to his side as it always did. He was surrounded by his usual friends, those that had helped him end the Absolute plot. The silver-haired cleric held a goblet of wine and a rather beautiful smile on her face. The wizard of Waterdeep with his jovial laughter and light hearted, yet silly jokes. The pale vampire who was the life of the party, taking in the attention with the air of a man who’d done this sort of thing his entire life. The High Harper and the former First Druid stood side by side farther back, discussing something at length with the Githyanki, supplied with all manner of drink and entertainment, preferring to shield themselves from the golden light that radiated from the savior of Baldur’s Gate instead of basking in it.

But none of them held the allure of the one who stood within the confines of their circle, out of place among heroes but never far from Rolan’s thoughts.

A tiefling blacksmith with a heart of gold and a smile to match it.

Dammon’s radiant smile was all the more blinding with the joy reflected in his dazzling blue eyes. He watched Karlach and Wyll with the pride of a friend, the affection of a brother. They had been his constant companions for nearly a year and yet, Rolan was jealous of the bond he’d so clearly built with them.

It was then that Rolan realized what their return meant. Karlach was no longer burning up, the fire of the infernal engine stifled in her chest.

They’d done it.

“It sounds like father has been telling tall tales about our exploits.”

“If anyone deserves to be a hero, it’s you, darling.” Astarion cooed at him, lifting a glass of wine to his lips. “Just take it before he decides to build a statue or something. The man is relentless.”

Karlach laughed, a harsh loud bark that was full of so much love and joy that it nearly broke Rolan’s heart. How he missed her vibrant personality, despite how loud and perhaps a tad bit boisterous she could be. Wyll took her hand in his, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles, a gesture that felt too intimate for the setting.

He ignored his friend’s teasing and instead, tugged Karlach closer, slipping his free arm around her waist, their combined hands coming up in the imitation of a dancer’s pose. “Let’s lead this dance, shall we, my love?”

Karlach responded, but Rolan didn’t care what it was she said, what any of them said, not when Dammon had noticed him staring. Realizing his mouth was hanging open, he snapped it shut, blush crawling up his neck and cheeks to the tips of his ears. Dammon smiled at him kindly and approached as the heroes of Baldur’s Gate continued to the dance floor, ignoring the two of them completely.

Rolan’s gaze swept Dammon’s body, taking in the new piercing hanging from his pointed ear, the dark blue doublet with fancy cloak, gold clasps glittering in the light of a thousand candles.

“I didn’t realize you’d returned. This is quite the surprise.” Rolan said, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible, but knowing he immediately failed when Dammon glanced at him, curiosity winning out over anything else. He swallowed with some difficulty, a lump sitting painfully in his throat. Might as well have been his foot.

“Yes. It was… recent. Very recent.” Dammon cleared his own throat, suddenly captivated by the sight of the dancers. Avoiding his gaze, most likely. “Karlach is doing much better than I expected. Better than I had hoped. I’m proud of how far she’s come. She deserves a happy ending.”

And what of us?

Rolan’s shoulders stiffened as his gaze sought out the subject of their conversation. She was laughing loudly, her voice carrying over the music and the chatter. Rolan could acknowledge that she deserved this, both she and Wyll did, but he was still angry that Dammon of all people took that responsibility on to himself. To leave for the Hells, the very place they’d escaped from such a short time ago, to put himself in danger for a woman he barely knew. Only because of the infernal engine she carried.

He took advantage of Dammon’s distraction to study him. The doublet he wore was a rich ocean blue, only highlighting the azure of his pretty eyes. His blond hair brushed his shoulders when he turned, watching a particularly handsome couple spin across the dance floor. The corners of his mouth tipped up, his expression gentle, softening his features. Longing thrummed beneath Rolan’s skin, the desire to reach out and comb some of that blond hair from his face, to tuck it behind an ear, if only to trail one of his claws across Dammon’s jaw.

“I suppose they all do. They did save us, after all.” Rolan forced the words out, trying to bridge the gap between them, the one that he had created when they’d last spoken. Because despite Dammon deciding to help Karlach’s mission in the Hells, Rolan was the one who’d taken a step back, reexamined things. He decided to leave the fleeting touches and longing looks behind him.

Rolan didn’t want to be left alone picking up the pieces of his heart when Dammon didn’t return. For a year, he’d been right. Dammon was gone, he wasn’t coming back, the Hells had torn him apart or had broken him. And if he did come back, what would be left? Would the man he cared for even still be in there, somewhere?

Rolan knew he wouldn’t survive that. Not after everything they’d fought against, fought for.

Dammon played with the edge of his cloak, the fine fabric shimmering with each movement. He was lost in his mind again, the revelry echoing in a sea of sound and color, a kaleidoscope of chaos. “Everyone here is a hero, in their own way. Even you, Rolan.”

He snorted, resisting an eye roll at the almost compliment. “Of course I am. My greatest achievements being almost getting killed by goblins and shadow creatures only to end up abused at the hands of a megalomaniac. You have a strange definition of hero.”

Dammon glanced up at his confession and Rolan realized too late what he’d admitted. He couldn’t meet the blacksmith’s gaze, this time he was the one to stare out into the crowd. “Lorroakan did what?”

Shit.

“I… Karlach told me about the aasimar, but not-”

Rolan waved the concern away, trying not to feel embarrassed at how easy it was to talk to Dammon. Like old times, indeed. “It’s fine. I’m fine. If it makes it easier to swallow, I helped to throw him from the Tower.”

“It does not.” Dammon sighed, closing his eyes and breathing slowly as if to calm himself. “If I had known, if you’d told me-”

“It changes nothing. Lorroakan is dead and I’m the new Master of the Tower. It’s taken a lot of work but it is mine now. And the Realms’. Knowledge shouldn’t be hoarded.”

Dammon made a noise low in his throat. A strangled laugh. At least, that’s what he thought it was.

“Is something funny?”

“I didn’t expect you to see the silver lining in such an awful situation. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always had confidence in excess.”

“Confidence or not, I’ve had plenty of practice surviving. We both have, it seems.”

Dammon bit his lip, concentrating on the words for what they were, a truth that was impossible for him to refute. They’d both done quite a bit of surviving over the last few years. Together and not.

And that was the problem, Rolan realized. Despite everything he’d gained, the safety and security of his position, the wealth and knowledge at his fingertips, the wonderful lives that he always swore he’d provide for his siblings, he was still in survival mode. A difficult habit to break, for sure.

“Rolan, I-”

Clearing his throat, Rolan cut Dammon off before he could get anything else out. The last thing he wanted was a heart to heart in such a public place, with the man who he, once upon a time, wanted something more with. “I apologize, but I really must return to the tower. It’s excellent that you’re well, Dammon. Truly. Perhaps, in the future, you can regale me with tales of your fight in Avernus.”

A brief flash of uncertainty crossed Dammon’s face before he hid it behind a smile. The blacksmith was always levelheaded, more so than Rolan ever was.

Rolan turned away, intending to disappear into the crowd without another word, when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks before he could take a single step. “Ah, here you are. The man I was looking for. Where are you off in such a rush?”

Wyll. Of all the people who could’ve caught his escape, it had to be the one whose disappointment would hurt most.

“I’m terribly sorry for leaving so soon… there are things I forgot that must be done, tonight-”

Wyll tsked, shaking his head with a frown on his face. For a brief moment, Rolan felt like a child again, being scolded by the matron of the orphanage he’d been abandoned at. The expression always rankled and this was no exception.

“The Archmage of Baldur’s Gate must stay for one dance. Come, I haven’t seen you in nearly a year and you’ve been standing here stiff as the statue my father said Lia had commissioned of you.”

“She did what?”

“I must insist that you enjoy yourself.” Wyll smiled kindly, nodding towards the dance floor. Rolan’s heart thudded dangerously fast in his chest at the thought of twirling among the other guests. Dancing wasn’t one of his strengths. He couldn’t recall ever having to do so. “Please. Think of it as a favor to an old friend.”

Damn him.

“I’m sure I can enjoy myself quite well with another glass of wine.”

Dammon coughed, covering his mouth with a hand, eyes staring at his feet. Rolan easily saw the smirk he attempted but completely failed to hide. So this was an ambush, was it?

“You mustn’t leave us so soon, Rolan.” Wyll continued as Karlach joined them, the fitted ebony gown looking even more stunning up close. She slipped her hand into Wyll’s, the joy of being to touch her love clear on her face. “There is plenty of fun left to be had.”

“But, I don’t have a partner.” Rolan responded, a smug grin aimed in the direction of the blacksmith. Dammon’s eyes widened slightly, as if he realized where Rolan’s thoughts had gone. If I have to suffer this madness, then so do you.

“Crazy idea!” Karlach interrupted, a grin breaking out across her lips, excitement sparkling in those glowing golden eyes. “You and Dammon could dance. Together. Because if it’s one thing I know after all of this crazy shit, it’s that everyone needs a chance to find that special person that makes them better. And Dammon here,” Karlach nudged him with an elbow, a grin that could light the Hells on her face. “Well, let’s just say he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since we left for Avernus.”

A blush colored Dammon’s cheeks at the revelation. “Karlach!”

“Was it a secret?” She asked, seeming genuinely confused and Rolan might’ve laughed if he wasn’t so embarrassed. “Come on, the two of you are irritatingly obvious and if I have to throw you into a wardrobe until you finally just f-”

“What Karlach means to say is-” Wyll cut her off, tugging her away from the two of them with a laugh. But not before throwing one last look at them. “Enjoy yourselves.”

Karlach’s laughter faded into the murmurs of the crowd, the son of an Archduke and the tiefling barbarian he loved finding the time to enjoy their lives now that the latest crisis had passed. Rolan released a breath, feeling the tightness in his chest ease only a little, a new fear warring inside of him. With a quick glance in Dammon’s direction, he wasn’t surprised to see the blacksmith studying him.

“I think that was the most polite threat I’ve ever had aimed at me.”

Rolan laughed, feeling breathless, and perhaps a little dizzy. It was definitely a threat, but one he might actually not be afraid of the consequences of. “I guess we have only one option then. That is, if you’re amenable to a dance.”

Hells, was he really doing this? He didn’t even really know how to dance a proper waltz.

Dammon raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Is that what you want?”

The man was so annoyingly handsome, with his light hair cascading around his face and striking blue eyes that haunted Rolan so many nights since their first meeting in Elturel. And here they were, both alive and settled in Baldur’s Gate, surrounded by friends, living the future they’d only dreamed about. Dammon was watching him intently, a soft grin curling his lips in a way that left Rolan’s insides feeling like pudding.

Holding his arm out in invitation, he tried to quell the erratic beat of his heart when Dammon linked their arms together, fingers brushing softly against his forearm.

Dammon was alive. After all of this time. The Hells hadn’t destroyed him, hadn’t changed him. His eyes were still kind, soft, beautiful. And to touch him after everything...

The room was too warm, too crowded, too bright, but when Dammon turned to face him in the midst of it all, everything faded to background noise. The only thing Rolan could see was the hypnotic azure of his eyes, a golden ring around his irises that was the same color as a noonday sun. There was a pink flush to his cheeks, the candles in the chandelier above highlighting the gold in his blond hair. Dammon was ethereal, dazzling, and too good for him.

The orchestra began its song, the music swelling around them as Dammon took the lead, free hand sliding to Rolan’s waist while the other gripped his hand gently. Then, without warning, they were moving, no, gliding, across the dance floor, their feet barely touching the ground as they went. Rolan knew there were eyes on them, he felt them burning into the back of his head, but the look of unadulterated bliss on Dammon’s face kept his attention.

There was nothing more beautiful to him than the sight of Dammon’s smile as they spun in the complicated dance, his face flushed in exhilaration, a laugh on his lips that came out awed, delighted.

“You’re good at this.” Rolan said, forgetting himself in the moment. He felt weightless as Dammon changed direction, stepping even closer. Blush creeped up his neck at the soft brush of their chests and his breath caught in his throat. “Uh, dancing, that is.”

Dammon chuckled, barely able to hide the smile on his face. “You are kind to say that. I admit, it’s been a while.”

The music picked up speed, a tempo that had the rest of the dancers spinning madly around them. Dammon’s gloved fingers tightened on his hip, digging into his waist and if his hands weren’t protected by the thick gloves he wore, his claws would’ve drawn blood. Rolan clenched his hand against Dammon’s shoulder, letting the music distract him from the sudden uncomfortable feeling flooding through him. Closing his eyes, he let Dammon lead him through the dance, each twirl and sway of their bodies, each tap of their feet to the rhythm, each brush against the other’s body nothing short of intoxicating.

Rolan wanted to stay in this moment indefinitely, free of responsibility for the first time in months, with the air rushing by as he realized how much he truly did enjoy dancing. At least, he did in the arms of a man who clearly knew what he was doing.

“Can I be honest with you?”

Dammon’s question pulled Rolan from his mind. He opened his eyes to find his friend watching him intently. His eyes begged for understanding, for a chance to be vulnerable. Rolan, at least, owed him that much. “

After a beat, Dammon realized his breath, tilting his head slightly to watch out for other revelers, focusing on everything but Rolan’s face. Almost as if he couldn’t bear to see his expression at his revelation. “I didn’t believe I would survive the trip to Avernus. I’d accepted that the Hells would be my tomb. That I would never see the sky again. Never see my friends from Elturel again. But whenever Karlach or I started to doubt, the Blade of Frontiers was there filling our heads with hope.”

“That does sound like him. Irritatingly so.”

Dammon laughed, a soft sound that loosened the butterflies in his stomach and he nearly felt as if he’d be sick. “If there is one word to describe Wyll Ravengard, it is hero.”

“A hero, yes, that’s for certain.” Rolan snorted, leaning forward to glance around them. Guests were still coming and going, and would be well into the night, and for a moment he contented himself with watching the glittering jewelry and fabric, the gilded gold and gemstones, the dancing lights above. It was lovely to behold, this moment of peaceful bliss.

“Do you have an issue with heroic types, Rolan?”

The question brought his gaze back to Dammon and the smile that greeted him there. He was teasing, eyes hooded and sparkling with laughter, and they twirled again, in their own world where no one else but them existed. “Depends on the hero we’re talking about. But to answer your question. No, I don’t have an issue with them. Not anymore.”

With a shake of his head, a breathless laugh escaped his lips, but he didn’t once take his eyes from Rolan’s. “Well, that’s excellent news because I’m dancing with my hero. To be fair, I almost feel like I'm dreaming.”

Rolan might’ve scoffed if the admission didn’t shock him. “Me? A hero? I think the Hells scrambled your brain.”

Dammon rolled his eyes, but sidled closer, their bodies touching again as they danced. “You saved us in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. I wouldn’t be here if not for you so… thank you.”

Rolan broke eye contact, staring at where their hands were entwined. Maybe… this was a second chance. Maybe there was more here than either of them expected. Perhaps, together, they could figure out what that was.

With a smile, he returned his gaze to Dammon, thoughts of a divine dream dancing in his head. A dream that he refused to imagine for so long that he craved it as much as he did the wine in his goblet. His hand tangled into the golden locks that brushed Dammon’s shoulders, enjoying the shiver that ran down his spine at the silkiness.

“If you’re staying in the city, I’m certain I’ll need your heroics to save me. From a stuck cork in a wine bottle, perhaps?”

Dammon laughed, the sound a balm for the soul but did little for the erratic beating of his heart in his chest. “I’m sure I can handle that.”

Yes, quite the divine dream.

#my writing #bg3 #bg3 fic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon #rolan x dammon #dammon x rolan #wyll ravengard #karlach #wyll x karlach

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